First Date
by racchelle
Summary: Luke and Noah go on what may be their first real date or, what I imagine happened offscreen in the gap between 111407 and 112007


The musical strains of "I Just Called to Say I Love You" floated on the air, coming from the direction of my stomach. Faith looked at me from the kitchen island and snickered as I pulled my cell phone out of the pocket of my hoodie and mock-glared at her. "Were you messing with my phone?"

"Maybe," she smiled, trying to maintain an air of innocence and failing utterly. "Tell Noah hello from me," she said over her shoulder as she left the room.

I flipped my phone open and said, "Hi, Noah. Faith says hello."

"How did she know it was me?" Noah asked.

"She . . . never mind, I'll tell you later. What's up?"

"Well, I was wondering . . . that is . . . I wanted to know . . ."

"Just spit it out, Noah," I urged gently.

"Would you go out with me? Like, on a real date?" My chest tightened and I opened my mouth to say no, but Noah started talking again. "We haven't done that, unless you count the fishing trip, which–never mind, that doesn't count." I could hear the hesitance in Noah's voice and could imagine that he was probably blushing. I closed my mouth and let Noah go on. "I guess the Halloween fair was kind of a date, but I don't want to count that either. It didn't go so well . . ."

"No, it didn't," I agreed.

"So, I guess you don't want to? Go out with me? On a date?"

"Noah, I'd love to go on a date with you," I started.

"I sense a 'but' coming," Noah interrupted.

"But I still feel so self-conscious. And I'm sure you don't want to deal with my wheelchair."

Noah was silent for a moment, before he replied quietly, "You're wrong. Dealing with your wheelchair is a small price to pay to be able to spend time with you."

I felt a warm tingle start in my heart and spread through my whole body. I tried to fight it, but it made me change my mind. "Okay, Noah, I'll go on a date with you. What have you got planned?"

"Um, a movie? Maybe coffee afterward?" Noah suggested. I chuckled and he added quickly, "I know, totally lame, huh?"

"No, it sounds great."

"Really? I mean, great. I'll pick you up around seven."

"See you later, Noah."

"Bye, Luke."

I sat there for a few moments, lost in thought, bouncing between excitement at spending some real time with Noah and panic about going out in public and spending some real time with Noah. My dad came into the kitchen from somewhere outside. He smiled at me and asked, "What happened?"

I slammed back to reality, but was not able to banish the smile from my face. "What?"

"You look . . . different."

"I do?" I looked down at my legs and felt a twinge of guilt. I still hadn't told my parents that I felt something in my legs before. Only Noah knew, which, to me, made perfect sense, in some weird way.

"Yeah, you look really . . . happy."

I flushed and looked down. "I have a date."

"A date? With Noah?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, Dad, with Batman. He's picking me up in the Batmobile and he's going to show me around the Batcave, then we're going to meet up with Robin and look for the Joker to see if he wants to join us for pizza."

"Sorry, that was a dumb question."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You do know that Noah is my boyfriend, don't you? Even though, technically, I guess, this is our first date."

Dad looked away and cleared his throat. "I didn't realize you guys had taken things that far. What are you doing tonight?"

"He's picking me up around seven for a movie and coffee."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Maybe you should just invite him here for supper."

"No way."

"But, Luke, what if something happens, like at the Halloween fair?"

"Thanks, Dad, for reminding me of that. Don't you think I should get used to going out in public again? I don't want to hide out at the farm for the rest of my life."

"I know you don't want that and neither do I, but will Noah be able to help you? Will he know–"

"If he doesn't, I do."

"I know you do, but will you ask for help if you need it?" Dad asked.

I was quiet for a moment, giving the question some consideration. "Yeah, I will." He raised an eyebrow at me. "I will!" I said and started wheeling out of the room.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"First, I'm going to go kick Faith's butt for messing with the ringtone on my phone, then I'm going to get ready for my date," I replied, not looking back.

* * *

There was a knock at the back door of the farm at precisely seven o'clock. "Come in," I called.

Noah stepped in and looked around before giving me a shy smile. "Hi. You're alone."

"Yeah."

He came around the kitchen island and cleared his throat and said, "You look . . . really nice."

I ran a hand down my sweater self-consciously. It was a v-neck, black, and made of something soft that clung to my body like a second skin. "Thanks," I murmured.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, definitely," I replied, sounding more confident than I felt.

Noah held the door for me and followed me to his truck, then helped me maneuver up onto the seat. I couldn't help it; I held onto him for longer than I needed to. He smelled so good it made my stomach do flip-flops. He looked into my eyes, a question in his own.

"You look really nice, too, Noah," I said, before my eyes dropped to his lips. They were like a beacon to my eyes. I wanted to kiss him, but shyness gripped me and I couldn't. The moment passed and he was folding up my chair to put it in the back of the truck.

"So, what movie do you want to see? We have the choice of Saw IV, 30 Days of Night, Across the Universe, or The Bee Movie."

I wondered which movie he'd want to see. "Across the Universe." It came out more like a question. "I don't care–whatever you want to see," I added.

"That sounds good to me."

"I guess that means we're going to the theater by Old Town?" The new multi-plex had ten theaters in it.

"I thought that might be . . . more relaxed and less crowded." He looked a little nervous–like he was afraid of offending me.

"You're right," I said, and he seemed to relax a little.

The theater wasn't very busy, which really did make me feel better and not as uptight as I thought I would. It helped that I felt more sure of Noah, of his feelings for me. We got our tickets and sat in the back row. This time, I got into my seat without falling and my wheelchair fit behind the row of seats. I almost felt normal.

"How are your classes going?" I asked, once Noah was settled next to me.

"Pretty good. I got a little behind for a while, but I've gotten all caught up. What about you–are you planning on going back?"

"Yeah, wheelchair or not, I'm starting back next semester."

"Have you, you know, felt anything more?"

I sighed. "I don't know. I think so, but then I think it's just wishful thinking."

"What do your parents think?"

I looked down at my hands. "I haven't actually told them yet."

"Why not?"

I shrugged and said, "I don't really know. I guess because they have so much going on in their lives right now–I just don't want to get their hopes up in case it's nothing."

Noah looked like he might argue with me, but the lights started to dim and the previews started. As the movie began, I looked down and noticed that my knee was pressed against Noah's and I couldn't feel it. It was not fair. My jaw clenched to keep from growling with frustration and looked up at Noah's face. He was gazing at the screen, his face serene. I went back to watching the movie and tried not to keep looking at our legs, because the more I looked at them, the more I imagined I could feel his knee against mine. But, could I really feel it or was I imagining it? I looked resolutely at the screen and tried not to think about it anymore.

A few minutes in, I was beginning to wonder if I should've picked 30 Days of Night. I glanced at Noah again. He seemed to be enjoying it. He would. My eyes went back to the screen. At least the two guys were hot. The cheerleader onscreen started singing "I Want to Hold Your Hand", but it wasn't like the Beatles original at all. There was such a profound sense of longing in her voice, a feeling I'm intimately acquainted with. I looked at Noah; he was already looking at me, his eyes liquid blue. We reached out and linked our fingers together. I wish I'd kissed him in the truck.

We went back to watching the movie and I tried to concentrate, but I was too aware of his fingers laced with mine, with the way his thumb caressed mine, tracing a path, over and over. I leaned closer, so our upper arms touched. He didn't look at me, but there was a hitch in his breathing. I started watching the movie again, but my own breath hitched a few minutes later when I felt his fingertips brush against the inside of my wrist underneath my sleeve. His fingers moved up a few inches, barely grazing my skin and he leaned closer to me. I didn't dare look at him for a long time and I don't know if it was his touch or the fact that I wasn't breathing that made me light-headed.

When I couldn't resist any longer, I looked over and found him looking back at me, the movie forgotten. He moved and I moved and our lips met and parted. I tasted him and breathed him in and I was punch drunk with desire. The kiss went on forever and not nearly long enough before we broke apart. By unspoken agreement, we went back to watching the movie, though I couldn't concentrate on it. Instead, I thought about our relationship and wondered a hundred times if this is love? Do I love Noah? He makes me feel things I've never felt before, or, if I've felt them, it's never been this intense. Is that love or is it lust? I think it's more than lust. Although, I can't help it that I am hyper-aware of every movement he makes, every place his skin is touching mine, every breath he takes, and, when I lean closer, the scent of him. He's making my head spin and he's not even doing anything, but it makes me want to touch him and know him and find out every little thing about him.

It's almost a relief when the movie ends and I can move and breath on my own again. We waited for the theater to empty before he got out the wheelchair. Man, I hate that thing.

"So, do you want to go have coffee?" he asked, as we headed to the door.

Do I dare tell him what I really want to do? Get in his truck, find someplace to park, and kiss him until he forgets his name and only remembers mine. Yeah, like that'd ever happen. He must see the smirk on my face because he asked what I'm thinking.

"Well," I try to be brave, "would you care if we skip coffee?"

"Are you tired, do you want to go home?" We've reached his truck.

"No, not really. Just . . . not in the mood for coffee," I replied, looking up at him from beneath my lashes.

"Do you want to do something else?" He lifted me under my arms to help me into the cab of the truck and I gripped his shoulders; it's as if we're dancing.

I looked straight into his eyes and whispered, "I want to do something else."

Something in my tone must have reached him because he blushed and smiled and said, "Okay, me too."

He got in, looked at me, and asked, "Where should we go?"

"Start towards the farm and I'll tell you where to turn off." He did and we turned off on a small road that brought us to the far side of Snyder Pond. He turned off the truck and looked at me, a lopsided smile on his face. "Are we parking?"

"We're definitely parking," I said, grinning at him.

"We could've just gone to my dorm room," he said.

I stopped grinning and looked away, trying not to think of the complications that might've caused. He must have sensed the change, because he slid closer on the seat and reached for my hand. "This is nice, though. The stars are amazing and the weather is still nice enough we shouldn't freeze." He sounded nervous again, almost guilty.

I tugged his hand and pulled him closer. "I don't want to talk about the weather, Noah."

"No, I don't either." His mouth was inches from mine. He snaked an arm around my waist and licked his lips. It was my undoing. It was my fault, really. I could never stop looking at his lips, so when I saw his tongue, when I knew he was wetting them because he clearly wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him, I lost what little restraint I was holding onto and pulled him tight to me. In spite of this, the kiss started slow, almost chaste.

I pulled back and looked into his eyes. They were dark–so dark, but his face was pale in the moonlight. I touched his cheek and ran my thumb under his chin, then over his mouth once and then again. He threaded his fingers in my hair and pulled me close again, meeting my lips for a deeper kiss. Back and forth, our mouths danced together and apart, sometimes with tongues and sometimes without, until he was pressed against me fully on the seat and the only sound that filled the truck was our ragged breathing and the tiny incantations of desire that issued from deep inside each of us.

Then he was gone, sliding down my body as his mouth moved against my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, and back up the other side, all the way up to my ear. His breath was hot against it as his tongue traced around my ear and he breathed my name into it. I arched against him, aware, even through the haze of desire, that he was almost laying on the seat. My legs felt heavy and awkward. I stopped and pushed him away.

He frowned, confused and concerned. "Did I hurt you? What's the matter?"

"My legs."

We both looked down. I'd slid down so far in the seat my legs were jammed up against the dashboard and he was half-laying on them.

"Luke, I'm sorry," he said, sitting up and trying to readjust us both.

"Wait. Noah, they hurt."

"What do you mean?"

"Like the other day. I can feel them. Not a lot, but a little."

"Really?"

"Yeah." I pushed myself up and moved my legs so they were more comfortable. "I don't think I can stand on them yet, but this has got to mean something, doesn't it?" I asked, my voice cracking, my eyes searching his desperately.

His eyes were shining when they met mine. "Yeah, it does." He settled next to me on the seat, put his arm around me, and pulled me close to him. I took his other hand and laced our fingers together. We sat like that for a long time, just talking.

Finally, Noah said, "It's getting cold in here, I should take you home."

"Or maybe we should just warm it up in here," I said.

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"Well, you could turn on the heater . . ."

"Or?"

"Or we could do some more of this," I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed him for a minute, then pulled back. "What do you think?"

"I like the second idea better," he replied, his eyes sparkling in the dark.

"Me too," I replied and pulled him close again.


End file.
